Clovers
by Ivory-Bride
Summary: Sam has hidden his feelings for his master over all these years. When he finally gets Frodo alone one cold night, will he reveal them?


The sky was black. Stars glittered, scattered here and there to create a sort of painting-like fantasy. The moon hung full and proud in her sky. She ruled the night, and the clouds scattered from her, nowhere to be seen. A gentle breeze rustled the treetops and through the dirty blonde hair of a chubby young hobbit, resting by the mountainside. He sighed, and looked about him. His companions were fast asleep, which they should be, as he was on watch. Next to him lay Frodo curled up in a ball and using his arms as a pillow. Sam sighed and wore a worried frown.  
  
"You're going to catch a cold, you will Mister Frodo," he whispered as he pulled a blanket over his master's small frame. He cocked his head slightly and smiled, taking in the glowing face of the tiny hobbit. How he wished he could curl up next to Frodo and spend his days there forever. But alas, it was a love he kept hidden, for he believed it to be forbidden, and wrong. Only for dirty old hobbits who are shunned and left alone, to die without love. Sam believed this to be his fate, too. He would die cold and lonely, with no one.  
  
He stealthily took another glance at Frodo. The little hobbit was sleeping with a horrible nightmare. His eyelids twitched, and he frowned in his dreams. Sam reached over to wake him, but heard Frodo muttering something, and stopped, startled. A tiny gasp left the sleeping hobbit's lips.  
  
"Sam. . . " Sam jumped, and listened for more, not wanting to eavesdrop, but not able to help himself. No more could be heard, and Sam sighed, slightly disappointed. Frodo showed no more signs of anxiety, so Sam left him to his dreams. He closed his eyes and leaned back up against the rock.  
  
"I wonder what goes on in Mister Frodo's dreams. . . he said to himself. Frodo answered by rolling over and subconsciously pulling his blanket over his head. Sam smiled.  
  
"I hope you don't have such tortured dreams as mine." He wasn't feeling the least bit tired, so he hummed to himself and looked at the stars. They were shining brightly, of course. The days were very well, but Sam only wished he could enjoy them once more from the peace and comfort of the Shire. No worries, just him and the stars, and of course, Mister Frodo, for what would the stars be like without him? Sam smiled, and stole a look back at Frodo. The hobbits head was still under his blanket, but as he stirred in his dreams it began moving down his face. Short brown curls emerged from beneath the Elvin-cloth. They tangled and entwined into one another and before he could stop himself, Sam found his hand reaching out to fondle one. His hand froze once he realized what he was doing, but his desire took the better of him.  
  
"Oh, what's the bother," he whispered to himself and sighed. "I sure hope you're sleeping soundly. . . His fingers stroked one of Frodo's locks, tenderly. He couldn't help but smile, only to do so with sad eyes and a longing heart. Once again, his feelings took the better of him, and his fingers stroked Frodo's cheek, and moved toward his lips. They were soft and warm, despite the brisk spring night. Frodo seemed to feel the touch in his sleep. His eyelids fluttered, but he did not wake. His lips parted, slightly, and then closed once more, almost as if a kiss had left them and had been pressed to Sam's fingertips. Sam blushed, although he knew the act to be quite unintentional, and not even a real kiss, at that. Still, cheeks rosy and breath short, Sam pulled his fingers reluctantly away.  
  
By now he was feeling guilty, and a bit childish. What was he doing? Hobbit- lads were meant to fall in love with hobbit-lasses. Any other way simply was not heard of. Sam was thoroughly confused. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not for Mister Frodo. It just wasn't right! It wasn't!  
  
But then. . .  
  
How could it not be? After all, love is love. Should it really matter who it is shared with? To Sam, it didn't, and he hoped that it didn't to Frodo, either. Of course, hope was all he had. It was the only thing keeping his head straight.  
  
(A/N - Of course, it wasn't doing a very good job of keeping him straight, now was it? *chuckle* Wow. . . bad joke. . .)  
  
For the hundredth time, he looked at his love, sleeping peacefully. Would he ever get a chance to tell Frodo how he felt? And what if he did, what would become of him? Or his feelings? A part of him hoped they would be returned. All of him hoped they would be returned. But he was scared. Much too scared to take action.  
  
As his eyes watered at the thought, he got up, and walked to a small pond, nearby. He could still see his companions, but the tiny waterhole was surrounded on most sides by brush, that gave him the feeling of seclusion. He stared at his reflection in the water. Two tears ran down either cheek and fell into the mirror, creating ripples in Sam's image. He was not good with words, but his feelings were strong, and it was they that created soft sounds of choking and weeping in his throat. He brushed away his tears and threw a rock into the water, where his reflection stared back. He hoped that somehow, his longing, like the ripples would flutter away to nowhere, and free him from their confinement. Of course, it was no use. His reflection returned, and his feelings for Frodo were just as strong as ever. Still, throwing the rock seemed to free him of a bit of his anger.  
  
He averted his eyes, and looked instead at a patch of grass to the side. It was a tiny cluster of clovers. He smiled, as memories came flooding back to him of clovers, childhood, his friends, and of course, stories from his gaffer.  
  
(A/N - Duh! What kind of Lotr fic would this be if it didn't include Sam thinking of his gaffer?!)  
  
He counted the leaves on a few, not expecting to find much of anything, but as he was about to look to the sky, he looked back. Sitting in the middle of the patch was a four-leaf clover, looking just like the rest, but still, almost giving off an aura of luck, and shining of hope. He put his finger out to its leaves, and it tilted up to him, amazing him with its rarity, and most of all, its simple presence.  
  
"Sam, what are you doing over here?" A soft voice questioned him from behind. He swung around, clumsily, but lost his balance, and one of his arms ended up in the shallow bank of the pond, wetting him up to his elbow.  
  
"I, uh, I was just- that is. . ." He stuttered, removing his hand from the pond scum, and looking up to the face of his intruder. His heart lifted, it was Frodo. He felt suddenly embarrassed, and quickly stood up, brushing himself off, and above all, avoiding eye contact with Frodo.  
  
"I got a bit. . .bored. By myself. And- well, I felt it was safe, so I came over here, to the water." He looked to his feet and shifted them, sheepishly.  
  
Frodo walked over to the water, a smile playing on his lips. He was wrapped in a blanket, and his cheeks were pale.  
  
"Well, Sam, I can't say I blame you. I often wander off while I'm on watch. It gets a bit lonely by myself." He looked at Sam, who was still entranced by the repetitive movement of his shifting feet. Frodo smiled, and looked to the moon, and the treetops. They were wavering softly in the breeze. Sam found the silence to be uncomfortable. He looked at Frodo. The burdened hobbit still had a tiny smile on his face, but his eyes seemed sad and distant. Almost as if. . . No. Sam looked away. Longing wasn't the word, for longing was how Sam described his feelings, and Frodo certainly wasn't tainted by such filthy thoughts.  
  
Frodo brought his gaze back down to reality, and sat down, Sam noticed, to the left of the clover patch. Sam did the same, following suite. He bit his lip, and leaned backwards, his hand supporting his body, which was feeling quite squeamish, and once again, short of breath. Frodo sighed to himself and, not noticing Sam did the same. His warm hand involuntarily pressed atop Sam's cold one. They jumped a bit, startled out of a trance, and moved away. They caught eye contact, but looked away once they did so. Sam hung his head and wore a worried frown. Frodo looked over to him, concerned.  
  
"Sam, your hands are like ice! Aren't you cold?" He didn't wait for an answer; instead he sat up and took Sam's hand in his own.  
  
"You must be freezing!" He rubbed Sam's icy hands, trying to heat them with the friction. Sam's face turned red, and he looked up at Frodo, not moving his head from its hanging position. His skin may have been cold, but his heart warmed to see Frodo so concerned for his well-being.  
  
"Silly me, it's not just your hands, you must be freezing all over!" Frodo said. He placed four fingers on Sam's cheek, and shook his head.  
  
"You shouldn't be out in this weather without a blanket. Here, you can share mine." Sam looked up, startled.  
  
"Oh nonsense, Mister Frodo, it's just a little chilly, I'll-" he stopped short as Frodo wrapped his blanket around the both of them. Encircled by Frodo's arm, and encompassed by his scent, Sam couldn't protest. Frodo tried to place the end of the blanket over Sam's shoulder, so that it would stay there, but it kept falling off.  
  
"Oh, stubborn thing. I'll just have to hold you there," he muttered. He left his arm around Sam, holding the blanket in place. Sam blushed, but smiled to himself. Frodo wore the same smile, and looked to the stars once more.  
  
"Look at them, Sam. Aren't they beautiful?" he asked, softly, almost to himself. Sam nodded.  
  
"Aye. That they are. They shine brightly tonight."  
  
"Yes. Almost as beautiful as your eyes. . ." Frodo whispered. Sam jumped. His head snapped to Frodo, his eyes wide. Frodo hung his head, realizing that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.  
  
"Sam, I just- That was-" he looked worried, clearly making a big deal over something that was not.  
  
"Mister Frodo," Sam interrupted him. He had gathered courage, and Frodo's words had given him a surge of hope.  
  
"I. . .Well; I've been meaning to say something to you. Or, I should. . .but. . .I'm scared." He turned to Frodo, who was looking at him intently. "I'd better just come out and say it. Mister Frodo, I think, well rather, I know that. . .that. . ." he sighed, and let it all out.  
  
"I love you, Mister Frodo. I love you, but not as I should. I love you as a lover. Not just a friend. I. . .Well, I had to tell you, but I was terrified, you see, of what you would think. That I'm nasty and dirty, and- "  
  
He was cut off by an unusual feeling. He opened his eyes ever so slightly, and saw Frodo in front of him, his lips gently pressing against his own. He hadn't felt anything like it before. His heart surged with love, and relief, and happiness, and a desire to be closer. He was hungry for more, as if he had an appetite for this wonderful new sensation.  
  
Frodo's lips were soft and gentle. They were warm, and slightly open, making the kiss more than just a tiny peck. They pulled away, reluctantly. Neither wanted to stop, but much needed to be said, and clarified. Sam looked at Frodo, whose eyes met his own. Both smiled, and sighed with relief.  
  
"Sam, you have no idea how many times I've dreamt of those words. . . of that kiss. . .of you. I love you so much, but I always feared that you would leave me, or hate me, or-" he stopped speaking as he felt Sam's arms around his neck. The blanket fell, forgotten. Sam's lips left a gentle kiss on his neck.  
  
"Mister Frodo," he chuckled softly, "I could never hate you. I-" he brought his gaze up into Frodo's eyes.  
  
"I love you too much."  
  
Frodo's eyes sparkled, and his face beamed with happiness.  
  
"Oh, Sam." He took Sam's hands in his own, squeezing them gently, then pulled him in for another kiss. Sam pulled his head away, teasingly, and nudged Frodo's cheek with his nose. His eyelashes fluttered against Frodo's skin, making them both giggle. Frodo kissed the tip of Sam's ear, and then brought his lips down to kiss his cheek. Sam turned his head, and allowed their lips to meet once more.  
  
Both their eyes were closed, and they were trying to kiss and smile at the same time. Sam's smile turned into a larger grin, and Frodo's lips ended up on his teeth. He laughed, and pressed his forehead to Sam's.  
  
"What was that?" he whispered, smiling. Sam blushed.  
  
"I couldn't help it, I'm so happy!"  
  
"Well, I do love your smile, but we'll have to try that again." Sam blushed to an even deeper shade of red, and looked down, smiling. Frodo lifted his chin with two fingers and their lips met once more. This kiss was deeper than the first, and longer. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo's neck. He felt Frodo's hands touch his sides. Frodo pulled him gently down to the grass. They lay on their sides, still kissing.  
  
When they parted, their eyes were gleaming, and they were both smiling. Neither had ever been happier. Frodo's arm reached around Sam and pulled him closer. One of Sam's hands ran through Frodo's curls, the other was holding his hand, tightly. They gazed into each others eyes.  
  
"I love you, Sam," whispered Frodo.  
  
"I love you too, Mister Frodo. With all my heart."  
  
Frodo smiled, and kissed Sam's fingertips, one by one. He then reached over for the blanket and pulled it over them.  
  
"Let's sleep over here tonight," he said.  
  
"But- the others-"  
  
"Let the others think what they want. If they leave us, so be it. But I'm not going to let go of you just to please them."  
  
Sam smiled.  
  
"You're so brave," he said. He kissed Frodo's nose. "Goodnight, then."  
  
Frodo kissed Sam's forehead.  
  
"Goodnight, love."  
  
They shared on last kiss on the lips before falling asleep in each other's arms. That night was unlike any other. As the clouds gave way, a beam of moonlight shone down on the young lovers. The stars sparkled with joy, the trees swayed with happiness, and in the night, a four leaf clover grew as a symbol of luck, hope, and above all, love. A love eternal. 


End file.
